Black Hearts
by Demon Magi
Summary: Seven years, ago, Harry Potter graduated from Hogwarts. He remains noticably unattached, as does Hermione Granger. However, the remaining Weasley children have all developed romances or marriages. Trouble brews with the Weasley Twins and Harry Potter.
1. One

Fred Weasley checked the clock as another of the many who purchased products from  
Weasley's Wizard Wheezes left the store. For a moment he stared at the clock in disbelief,  
because it was moving in odd directions. After that moment, he realized that this was just another  
of the many items on display. Fred checked a separate clock a moment later, which confirmed  
what his mind had been telling him. Closing time. Leaving the counter and pulling out his wand  
at the same time, he quickly changed the "Open" sign to display "Toad" instead. Sighing in  
exasperation at another one of George's 'minor changes', he left the shopfront to see George  
sitting at a small table, bent over a very long length of parchment.  
George looked up as Fred arrived. Waving one hand down at the roll of parchment, he shook  
his head. "Whoever said we had to calculate our profits every month was a bloody idiot! All this  
math in one place shouldn't be allowed!" Fred walked over to the table and looked down at it.  
"I suppose now is a bad time to tell you that one hundred twenty-seven minus seventy-two  
must end in five, then?"  
"What? Oh, yeah. Thanks." George said, altering one of the many numbers scrawled on the  
parchment. Fred shrugged. "What was wrong with the sign? I thought 'axe' was good. Why  
toad?"  
"People get bored when you keep one thing too long."  
"I put it up yesterday!"  
"So?" George asked, a smile playing across his mouth. Fred looked annoyed and left the dark  
room by way of a back door, which somehow also managed to open onto Diagon Alley. He  
needed something to eat.  
  
Ronald Weasley leaned back on the couch of the living room of his modest house. It was not,  
perhaps, the best house, but he'd done well compared to the Weasley standard. Actually, the only  
one of them who hadn't was Percy, whose ambition had been crushed repeatedly by superiors  
who felt that he was simply too serious and unimaginative. Ron's thoughts twirled on that final  
word. Sirius. He hadn't heard from Sirius Black in a while. That was peculiar. Maybe he would  
talk to Harry about it, next time he saw him. Maybe he could catch him before work on Monday.  
Or during work. It wouldn't be very likely that Harry would be off actually working, not during  
these times. Being an Auror was easy work, these days.  
Not that Ron would know anything about that, working for the Department of Magical Games  
and Sports. That was where his love for Quidditch had been able to go, when he had realized he  
simply had no skill on a broom. And he'd found another love there, as well. Andrea Weasley,  
originally Andrea Starseeker. After dating for a year and a half, they'd become engaged, and then  
married. As she entered, he smiled. "Remind me again why I never saw you at Hogwarts?"  
Andrea shrugged. "Becasue I'm two years older than you and I was in a different house."  
Ron sat up. "Right. I never thought I'd marry a Ravenclaw back then." He patted the seat  
beside him. "Sit down, Ana."  
"Not until you say you're sorry about insulting Ravenclaw's like that. Besides, I'm in the  
middle of making dinner."  
"Just because it's cooking doesn't mean you have to hover over it. That doesn't change  
anything."  
"Fine. But you still have to say you're sorry."  
"I'm sorry."  
"And mean it."  
"Ana . . ."  
"Okay, okay. I'm coming!" Ron laughed trumphantly as Andrea sat down beside him.  
"I love you." Veritaserum would have had about as much effect on those words as it would  
have had on a concrete wall, and Andrea knew it. She kissed him lightly.  
"I love you too."   
  
Harry Potter, world famous Hit Wizard and winner of two consecutive Most Charming Smile  
awards from Witch Weekly(neither of which he knew about, as he'd denied their first three  
attempts to give it to him after contacting him), rubbed his eyes. Even now, many years after the  
death of Voldemort, they were still 'mopping up', as his superiors liked to say. People continued  
to attempt to unite the remaining Death Eaters, and it was very often Harry's squad that the  
Ministry turned to when these people revealed themselves. In that time, Harry had become too  
familiar with the Killing Curse, a spell he had once thought he would never cast.   
Placing his chin on his hands and his elbows on his desk, he began whistling softly, hoping  
that his boss wouldn't forget to let him go. He'd just captured another one of the dark wizards, a  
man who's face he thought he'd recognized, but coudln't sem to remember. Lifting his head, he  
began looking down one of the many pages cluttering his desk, before finding the name. "Marcus  
Flint. Hm." Marcus Flint . . . once the Slytherin team captain. Harry sighed. He wished that was  
the only place he knew Marcus Flint from. He was also part of a small circle of the younger  
Death Eaters, and they would likely try to get him out as soon as they heard the news. More work  
for the Aurors.  
Harry smiled. Hermione Granger, now an Auror, could probably take care of them all  
singlehandedly. The odds of their succeeding were so low that they might as well not bother. He  
looked up as something flashed, and he realized that Hermione was now standing in the room  
too. She put a folder down on his desk. "We've been tracking this one down for ages, but  
apparently she just got her hands on some really powerful item - we're not sure what - and  
management decided that it was a job for the Hit Wizards, rather than us lowly Aurors. You're  
authorized to kill."  
Harry looked down at the folder, shrugging. "I was already authorized to kill her. Anyone I  
have evidence of being a dark wizard -or witch- and resists attempts at arrest. But you know that.  
Thanks, Herm."  
Hermione nodded. "Any time, Harry. Appareo!" Harry opened the folder as Hermione  
disapparated. He looked down at the name. Pansy Parkinson. The Harry-haters of Hogwarts were  
certainly out in force today.  
  
The last of Arthur and Molly Weasley's children now lived in a small apartment in London.  
Actually, it only looked small. Despite the outer size of the apartment, Virginia had managed to  
get her father to get the Ministry to approve certain charms for use in her apartment. The inside  
was sparsely furnished, however, because she wasn't rich. Besides that, she didn't live in it often.  
She spent much of her time away on trips with her boyfriend, making sure he didn't kill himself  
-or get killed- during quidditch matches. Oliver Wood, keeper for the English national team, and  
the Puddlemere United team during the offseason. The salary of a Quidditch player wasn't  
horrible, but it wasn't meant to support two people. Ms. Weasley shrugged quietly. This one last  
trip she hadn't come on, mainly because it was just for two days and there was a bit of work she  
needed to do around the apartment.  
She was regretting it. The intense love that who was then young Ginny Weasley had  
unexpectedly developed for Oliver Wood hadn't faded, and she spent as much time with him as  
possible. He had been away just two days, and she wished she had gone with him. But he would  
be back tonight, she told herself. Looking up from her most recent sketch, she saw an owl fly  
through the window. Taking its message, she read the contents.  
iGin,  
Five years since we started dating. It's been so long. I'll meet you where we  
began, at eight. My love eternal, always to you.   
From the red of my heart,  
Ol/i  
Virginia smiled. He had remembered their anniversary. Virginia berated herself  
instantly for doubting. He hadn't forgotten four years ago, three years ago, two years ago, or  
last year. It made a good excuse for them to head to one of the best restaurants in town,  
anyway. And being able to celebrate their anniversary before they married was pretty good, too.  
Virginia patted the owl affectionately, knowing that he wouldn't run. She went to find the  
most stunning dress she could, and then to put it on. 


	2. Two

George Weasley's wife, Amare Weasley, was not what many would call a pretty woman.  
Green eyes peered out from a narrow and almost triangular face, crowned by long and straight  
brown hair. Not even Fred had recognized the beauty that George had seen, simply because what  
everyone else pointed to as the reasons she was not pretty, were all the reasons why he thought  
she was beautiful. George smiled even more broadly than the small, clever, "I know something  
you don't know" smile that was usually displayed on his face, and turned his attention to the  
latest thing that she said.  
"You always spend so much time at work, George. I wish you'd stay home more."  
George shrugged. "We're just having trouble with getting the business running. Besides,  
next month it's Fred's turn to handle the heavy work. I'll be home then."  
Amare sighed. "I know. I'm just worried about you."  
"There's nothing to be worried about. But I appreciate it." George smiled, then turned at a  
knock on the door. Amare stood up and went to it.  
Fred looked up as she entered. "Hey, Ame. Could I talk to George for a second?"  
Amare nodded. "Sure. Come on in." Fred nodded and entered, then looked around to see  
Fred standing in a doorway.  
"George. I finished those numbers a little while ago. That was when I got out the best  
broom I could find from my stores."  
"Either it's really good or it's really bad news. Just tell me which one."  
"See for yourself." Fred threw a scroll in George's direction, which he caught deftly.   
George looked at Fred for a moment before opening it, and his body immediately  
drooped in sadness. Amare shook her head quietly as George spoke. "This is bad, Fred."  
"Very bad." Fred acknowledged.  
Amare butted in. "How bad exactly?"  
"Very bad." Fred repeated.  
"How bad is very bad?"  
"Worst month ever bad."  
"Oh."  
"Yes.  
"Really?"  
Fred broke out into laughter. "No!" He howled. "No. Actually, I just wanted to give George  
the good news."  
Amare's face instantly broke into an angry glare. "You tricked me! When will you two  
ever tire of tricking me!"  
George chuckled. "Never, love," he said at the same time as Fred said "When George  
becomes a Malfoy, Ame."  
Amare's anger cracked quickly. "Of course. That's why when someone says 'the twins'  
everybody thinks of you."  
"Precisely. Personality sells." George replied.  
"So it does." Fred continued.  
Mrs. Weasley sighed. "What will I do with you?"  
"Nothing."  
"You could try."  
"Just keep your hands away from the candy if you do."  
Amare groaned. "You're impossible."  
"We are." The two said in unison.  
  
Harry Potter Apparated quickly outside of the castle that, reports said, Pansy Parkinson  
was residing in. As the rest of his small Hit Wizard squad Apparated in behind him, he nodded.  
"Let's go."  
The first room, or hallway, as it turned out to be, was quite long. It also featured no  
mysterious creatures, giving Harry his first hint that something strange was going on. Any self-  
respecting upstart dark wizard would pack their front hall with at least a few bodyguards. Of  
course, most of them locked their doors, too.  
The next one was a junction. The Hit Wizard Lieutenant disliked junctions. He had nearly  
lost people because they'd been forced to split up. The problem was that if they tipped off  
Parkinson by heading down a corridor, especially if it were the wrong one, she would get away.  
So they split up. Harry took the forward one, knowing it would lead to the throne room, the one  
most likely to house someone so arrogant that they wouldn't even house their front hall with  
guards.  
Unfortunately, he was right. The door opened easily, and Pansy Parkinson was indeed  
behind it. She was sitting on the throne. She was also using twice as many beauty products and  
spells as she had been at Hogwarts, and she had succeeded in making herself look actually rather  
good. Harry had a feeling she'd popped potions with the policy that 'it couldn't possibly look  
worse.' She smiled as he entered, a smile that told Harry something was wrong. He raised his  
wand, began speaking the words that would imprison her, the words of the spell he had formed  
himself. "Li-"  
Even as he did, Pansy Parkinson lifted up the gold chain she was wearing, revealing a  
small gold arrow charm at the very end of it. She tore off the charm, and just as the Hit Wizard  
began the spell, she threw it, and he didn't have time to dodge as it embedded itself in his wrist.   
He looked down at it- and suddenly his head was thrown upwards again. No one had  
touched him, but as it went upward, he saw Parkinson had the kind of expression that indicated  
that she had complete control over what was going on.  
"That arrow embeds in you a potion that gives its thrower complete control over your  
body. It isn't quite the Imperius Curse, which works well for me. First, it isn't Unforgivable.  
Second, you can't fight it off."  
Harry tried to respond, but found he could not open his mouth. Parkinson continued. "If I  
wanted to kill you, I could crush every organ in your body in under a second. You would die  
instantly. But I don't want you for that. No, I want something else. I need a servant, and you,  
Harry Potter, will do fine for me. Here, the rest of your squad will be coming back soon. We  
wouldn't want them to suspect anything, so we'll just put you behind that curtain over there."  
Harry found himself moving, and soon he was behind the curtain, with only a slightly  
dulled view of what would happen. He watched in horror as the first came back to the junction,  
looked up the corridor to see what Harry had found, and only saw green light. The next one,  
however, was more prepared. He heard the word 'stupefy,' and saw the spell bounce harmlessly  
off of Parkinson and end up instead knocking out some member of a former royalty in a painting.  
That one died, too. No splatter of blood, no nothing, just that horrible green light.  
The next one Harry couldn't quite make out through the thickness of the floor-length  
curtain that was hiding him, but he was fairly sure whoever it was wasn't from his squad. He saw  
the wand, however, and saw the Killing Curse spew from it, killing Parkinson.  
Instead of the freedom he'd hoped for from the demise of Parkinson, he felt his lungs  
begin to hurt. It got worse very quickly, and suddenly he could not breathe. He choked and fell  
forward, the curtain coming up to accommodate him, and his eyes, wide open in the shock of the  
sudden, searing pain, saw Hermione standing in the door, her wand falling to her side, as two  
very sweaty and tired Hit Wizards ran up behind her. Harry Potter, Ministry of Magic  
Department of Magical Law Enforcement Hit Wizard Lieutenant First Class Harry James Potter  
saw this image as he fell into the blissful unfeeling black of unconsciousness. 


End file.
